


Elysium

by beautyinstarlight



Series: Mountain Sound [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Depressed Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, runaway stiles stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautyinstarlight/pseuds/beautyinstarlight
Summary: Plagued with the haunting images of what he did at the will of the Nogitsune, Stiles struggles to reclaim his place in the pack. When he's turned away by the person who should trust him the most, Stiles leaves behind Beacon Hills without a trace. After traveling for hours he finds himself in Washington State where he finds himself in the company of the last people he ever thought he would see again.





	1. My very thoughts a curse.

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to rework this after many months of it lying dormant. When I first started writing this, I had the idea of a polyamory relationship, and Derek having healed after he met an original character I had named Mari. While removing Mari from the story is in no way me attempting to shame those who partake in polyamory relationships, it was a realization to me that Derek should be allowed to heal on his own. As of right now, I have no real warnings of any kind. 
> 
> The title...and subsequently the chapter titles come from the song Elysium by Bear's Den. If you've never heard of them and like folk rock, or as I like to call it, Mountain music, you should check them out. 
> 
> I would like to thank three amazing people...
> 
> First up is my dearest friend and first beta reader, [ Tabby ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tabbytabbytabby) who has been here since day one. Without whom I would be a complete mess. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 
> 
> Next is my second beta reader, [ CododylWorld ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CododylWorld), thank you so much for taking on this task and dealing with me. 
> 
> and last but not least, [ wolfboybernie ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfboybernie/pseuds/wolfboybernie) who graciously agreed to read over my summery and help me iron out the kinks.
> 
> I highly recommend them to you all!
> 
> So without anything else to say...I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

 

_“We can’t kill people,” Scott says, voice unwavering, “Do you believe that?”_

_Stiles stands in front of Scott caught off guard by the distrust in his best friends eyes. “Well what do I do about this?” he asks, silently pleading with his eyes for his friend to understand, “What do you want me to do? Okay, just be...” he pauses, taking a breath, “Scott just tell me how to fix this, all right? Please just tell me, what do you want me to do?”_

_The silence seems to stretch forever, but when Scott finally speaks, Stiles feels like all the air is sucked from his lungs, “Don’t worry about Malia or Lydia. We’ll find them. We don’t need you so maybe you should go.”_

_Stiles watches as Scott turns and enters Deaton’s practice leaving him in the rain before he climbs into his jeep and turns around._

          It wasn’t a conscious thought, Stiles leaving Beacon Hills as he did but with Scott’s words resounding in his head, ...maybe you should just go, Stiles fled. One moment he was in his bedroom, clothing soaked through to his skin staring at his wall blankly as he replayed the last week in his mind, and the next he was in his jeep passing the welcome sign for a town an hour from the California/Oregon state line. It’s early, not even seven in the morning yet so he pulls over at a non-descript diner, just outside of town. He looks over what he has; two bags, one filled with some clothing and his necessities, the other filled with a few things he couldn’t leave behind: a quickly made makeshift bestiary (he doesn’t remember printing it off and shoving it in to a binder, but he doesn’t have his laptop, an unconscious protection from being found he thinks), several books of little importance, a pocket knife, and the last photo of him, his mom, and his dad. He checks his pockets and finds his wallet but not his phone, which he thinks was probably another unconscious effort to be left off the grid.

        He looks up at the flashing 24 hour sign in the window and for the first time since he left felt his stomach rumble with hunger. With a quick check to his wallet (roughly six hundred dollars and no debit card) he scrambled out of his jeep and walked into the restaurant. Immediately he was assaulted by the smells of coffee and syrup, the warmth of the room sending the aroma of the cooking foods to his nostrils. The diner wasn’t busy, but not empty as a few early risers sat in what Stiles assumes is their usual places. He steps up to the counter and is motioned to sit down by the waitress, no older than his dad. She smiles as she moves to stand in front of him, her blonde hair in a disarray, notepad at the ready, “What can I get you hon?”

Stiles gives her a terse smile in return before eyeing the menu, “Uh…I’ll have…coffee to drink and…” he pauses, looking over the items on the menu. Nothing captures his attention as his stomach is in knots, but common sense tells him he needs to eat. He looks up at the waitress and glances at her nametag, setting the menu down, “What do you recommend to eat here Tabitha?”

        She nods her head, resting her hip against the counter, “Well our breakfast special is our most popular item. It comes with three eggs made to order, three thick cut slices of bacon, two sausage links, cheesy hash-browns, and your choice of two slices of toast or a fresh made waffle.”

        “Then that is what I will have. Eggs soft scrambled please and give me the toast,” he says handing her back the menu. She smiles quickly at him, placing his order to the cook after pouring him his coffee and continues on to check on the few other customers. Stiles takes a sip of coffee, cringing at the bitter taste, grabbing several packets of sugar and pouring the contents into the liquid. He sips on it for a few moments, lost in thought before he notices Tabitha back in front of him.

        “Where you headin’ hon?” she asks, filling his coffee cup. She rests in front of him, elbows on the counter. Stiles stays silent for a moment, adding more sugar to his coffee and she speaks again, “Most of the people we get are regulars. Every so often though, we’ll get a stranger, passing through. Usually, they’re running from something, looking for a place to hide.”

        Stiles laughs mordantly, balling the sugar packets in his hands, “Is it that obvious?” He looks up at her then to find her face open and relaxed.

        “You’d be surprised how easy it is to learn to read people when you work this type of job. Let me guess, you became a little lost, dissatisfied with your life back home? So now you’re running, hoping to find something better?”

        “Life just wasn’t what I thought it would be,” he replies, no longer meeting her gaze. He fidgets with the hem of his sleeves “People change and grow apart. It can become stifling. It did become stifling.”

        “Hon, if there is one thing I have learned from my years, it is that when you feel suffocated, leaving is usually the best option,” Tabitha said, “But I’ll leave you. Your food should be ready shortly.”    

           She left Stiles to his thoughts then, going back to the other few customers, her words replaying in his head. Had leaving been the best option? Certainly, at the time it seemed like it, Scott’s attitude and words burning bright and harsh. Stiles felt abandoned, his father busy trying to locate the threat, and Scott’s instincts muddled by Theo. Surely removing himself from the situation had been his only option before he was killed or killed someone just out of hatred. Stiles already had blood on his hands, and while it may have been justified, it had taken something of him; the last shred of hope he had left after the nogitsune used him to hurt people he cared about.

           He’s barely startled when Tabitha sets his food in front of him, staring at it for a moment before he gives her a weak “thanks”. She responds for him to enjoy his meal and leaves him once again to his meal and thoughts. He, for once, does not eat with gusto but eats slowly and meticulously, his attention focused inward. When he finishes about fifteen minutes later, Tabitha is already back in front of him.

        “Anything else you want hon?” she asks, setting his bill in front of him. Stiles shakes his head as he takes the slip of paper and checking it before tugging his wallet from his jeans and pulling out a ten and five. He hands them to her, his fingers catching her wrist, “Did you ever regret leaving?”

        She stares at him for a moment before answering, her voice calm and sure, “Of course, but once that weight is lifted off your chest from all your uncertainty and pain, regret was just a passing forethought and all you have is endless possibility. Remember, the Japanese use gold to fix something that is broken, creating something entirely new and beautiful. I like to think that we can be healed in a similar way; our seems brought together by a golden thread, strong as iron, but soft and pliable enough to keep us from having a heart of stone.” Stiles’ fingers slip from her wrist before she quickly gives his hand a quick squeeze. “Thank you,” he murmurs, pulling away from her, nodding his head in acknowledgment, “Keep the change.”    

        Stiles makes it back to his car, quickly setting back on the road again. Unsure of his final destination, he just follows the road north, quickly passing into Oregon with little fanfare. He pulls into a gas station half an hour later, an older man coming out to meet him at the pump. He tells the man to fill the tank up before making his way into the store to pay the fare and get a few drinks and a few snacks for later. Ten minutes later he is back on the road, an ambient radio station playing lowly in the background. He drove for hours, stopping once more in Oregon and again forty minutes into Washington. He continues on, finally stopping for the night in Anacortes finding a reasonable hotel in town. It is too late to go out and explore and he isn’t hungry, so he decides to settle in for the night. Once he checks in, he unloads a single bag, bringing his shower gear and two changes of clothes with him. There isn’t much to explore in his room, a single full bed, a dresser, two lamps, a table with one chair, the bathroom, and a small mini fridge that was empty. He placed his bag on the dresser, removing a pair of sweatpants and a clean pair of boxers, picking up his toiletries and moves to the bathroom to take a shower. He sets the water, checking the temperature before stepping to wash away the grime of the day, allowing his muscles to relax under the warm spray, clearing his head for a moment. He doesn’t waste any time though, quickly washing his body, scrubbing at his skin until is tingles from his roughness. He steps under the spray to wash away the suds, wetting his hair and lathering the shampoo in and rinsing shortly after. Once he was finished, he quickly towels off, droplets of water still running from his hair, and pulls on a pair of boxers and sweats before crawling into the bed. He tosses for a while, no noises to lull him to sleep, body becoming tense again. He lets out a sigh, turning over onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillow.

______________________________________

Stiles bolts up suddenly, confused and disoriented nearly falling off the bed in a rush. All too suddenly, he hears the noise that woke him; the yelling from outside increasing in volume, the voices becoming angrier with each second. He looks over at the clock, the red numbers telling him it is just half past seven. He hastily kicks the covers from around him and stumbles to the window, peeking out from behind the curtain to see a young couple in the parking lot arguing beside their car. Stiles runs a hand over his face, pushing his hair from his forehead, moving to the sink to splash some cold water on his face.

             He looks in the mirror for a moment, leaning over the sink taking in his reflection. The dark circles under his eyes are less noticeable now that he’s gotten what little sleep he was able to catch but his face still looks gaunt; cheeks hollowed out and eyes sunken in. He looks like a ghost of himself. He blinks once, shaking his head to clear the images of his time as the nogitsune away. He grabs his toothbrush and quickly brushes his teeth before moving to get dressed for the day. He pulls on a soft grey henley, leaving the top button undone, and grey wash jeans, all but shoving his feet into a pair of worn chucks before grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand and pulling on a light jacket as he walks out the door.

           Outside is crisp, the fresh scent of salt water present in the air. He takes a deep breath, taking a moment to look around before moving to walk down the stairs to the ground level. It’s much too early for a great number of businesses to be open, but Stiles decides to take a look around the town. For the first time in the past few days, Stiles hasn’t felt an urge to keep running. He refuses to ignore that being here is the first in a long time that he’s felt he could well and truly breathe, that he’s otherwise content. He moves to walk down Main Street, taking in the small shops that line the road when he notices a little café that he quickly decides to duck inside of.

           The air inside smells of fresh brewed coffee, the small café busy, but not overly so. Stiles takes a look around, noticing more labor workers than businessmen or women at this hour. A few men who look ready to go on a fishing boat sit at the back of the café, while two women, decked out in red and black plaid, jeans, and steel-toed boots stood just off from the counter waiting on their orders. There were a few other people as well, but no one Stiles paid as much attention to than he was the barista.

           The girl was short, no taller than 5 foot, her hair in two complex braids, the black strands fading into a soft hue of teal. She had a warm complexion, her tanned skin likened to the color of fawn’s fur and was brightened by her wide, amber eyes that she had rimmed in a gold shimmer. Stiles startled, looking down to the floor to see an empty styrofoam cup, before looking back to see the girl smirking at him, casually leaning against a lever. He hesitates, and then walks up to the counter to meet her.

           “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to stare at me all day or order something. I’m Kaya,” she smiles warmly, her eyes sparkling as she looks up to him, “So sir, what can I get for you today?” Stiles looks over to the glass display, taking in the assortment of treats they have set up when she speaks up again, “We also have breakfast sandwiches available on request, these are fresh made in the mornings and mid-day, but we make the sandwiches to order.”

  Stiles eyes her for a moment, lips twitched up, not quite a smile, and answers, “Do you have bacon?”

         “Do we have bacon? Do we have bacon?” she sasses, “Of course we have bacon! And sausage, eggs, cheese, peppers, vegetables…and a heck of a lot of different breads. I’m sorry, you never gave me your name.”

           Stiles is stunned, mouth open at her enthusiasm, “Um…Stiles.”

           “Nice to meet you, Stiles. Kaya” she states, throwing her arm over the counter in an offer to shake hands. Stiles grasps it gingerly with Kaya gripping firm and shaking animatedly, “Now what can I get you?”

           “A bacon and egg sandwich?” he answers unsurely, releasing her hand and unconsciously moving back a few inches.

             Kaya moves to the refrigerated section under the counter, darting down and taking the items she needs, “You don’t sound so sure. You want anything else on the sandwich? What kind of bread do you want? Anything to drink?”

             Stiles shrugs, hands going to his pockets, “Cheese and do you have sourdough? And maybe some orange juice if you have it, if not coffee will be fine. Oh and a blueberry muffin.” Stiles eyes the item from where he stands.

           “Awesome choice. Gran made those early this morning before she went to open her shop. She owns a bookstore just down the street here. She grows the blueberries herself and freezes them to have through the year. The plants she uses were passed down from her grandmother and from her grandmother. They were once wild.”

           “You have a lot of energy,” Stiles remarks, watching her work. She’s fast as she flits around, taking two slices of the bread and placing them in a pan to lightly toast as she folds to eggs to make a patty before moving on to turn the bacon. She looks over her shoulder at Stiles, her braids whipping around with the sudden movement.

           “You’re one to talk,” she says, voice neutral, “You’ve been fidgeting our whole conversation.”

           “Well, I forgot my meds,” he responds dryly, not intending for her to hear, but her response is quick.

          “ADHD? I have it too. Though, I’ve never taken pharmaceutical medication for it. Gran is old school,” she says as she slides the plate over to Stiles with his finished sandwich. She moves to hand him a bottle of orange juice and then removes a muffin from the case and places it inside a paper bag, “Your total is ten dollars even.”

           Stiles pulls the bills from his wallet, throwing in an extra three for a tip and moves to sit at a table on the far wall. He settles in, unwrapping his sandwich, looking up to see a bright smile and wide eyes sat across from him.

           “Where are you from anyway? You’re not from around here, I would know I’ve lived here my whole life.”

           Stiles takes a bite of his food, looking her directly in her eyes as he chews. She continues to wait expectantly, smile never fading, and he swallows before answering, “California.”

           Her face lights up even more than before, and Stiles can’t help but smile back. They sit there for a few more minutes until more customers come in and Kaya has to go back to the counter. When he’s finished with his meal, Stiles balls up his trash and takes it to the trash can. He turns back to the counter and catches Kaya’s attention, “What’s the name of your grandmother’s place?”

           Kaya beams at him, “The Wild Wood! You can’t miss it, it’ll be like you’re stepping into a forest!”

______________________________________

             Stiles stops in front of the shop, in complete awe of the storefront; instead the traditional front, he was greeted by two large tree trunks that appeared to still be living if the canopy of green hanging above his head was anything to go by. The archway was made of limbs twisted together in an elaborate braid from which willow branches hung to create a curtain as a makeshift door. The two small windows were without glass and appeared as knobs in the trees and from where he stood, he could hear the soft sound of rushing water and the chatter of birdsong coming from inside.

            Hesitantly, he steps inside of the store, looking around. To his left is the counter, red oak that had been intricately carved depicting several images, an antique register sitting at the far end. Directly behind it was a wall of jars each sat in a precarious position, each filled with a different substance. The back wall held clothing from what he could tell, a traditional native shawl hanging beside a touristy shirt promoting the city with several pair of moccasins placed on a shelf below them. To his right was a wall that held basic needs items: soaps, shampoos, toothpaste and the like, all boasting an organic brand Stiles had never heard of. What really captured Stiles attention was the labyrinth of bookcase shelves each one unique in their appearance but the common theme of being trees connected by vines and branches. The shelves were mostly filled with books, with the occasional sculpture or art piece.

           “I feature local artists’ works to sell them to tourist.”

           Startled, Stiles turns abruptly coming face to face with the elder who could be none other than Kaya’s grandmother. The woman has a kind face, a calm smile as she watches him. Her hair is pulled back, mostly black strands pulled into twin braids with a crop of white strands mixed in, coming from her temple. She’s wearing a simple tunic, the rich green color complimenting her skin tone nicely, intricate beading around the collar, wrists, and bottom.

           “Can I help you dear?” she asks, moving to stand behind the counter, and Stiles follows her over, taking a closer examination of the carvings, “Ah, done by a dear friend, may his soul rest, and it tells the story of my people, the Quileute.”

             Stiles tears his gaze away from the carvings and looks back to the woman. She still smiles brightly at him, face inquisitive but open, “I’m Josephine, feel free to take a look around. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

            Stiles nods, responding to her with a near silent thank you as he turns his gaze back to the shop. He leaves the front of the store, making his way through the maze of shelves, and finds himself in the back examining the books there. Many of them are in another language, but a few are in English and he examines them. He takes one off the shelf turning it over in his hands before opening the front cover. He stands there reading, and barely misses the newcomer, only pausing when he hears the voice as it sends out a greeting to Josephine. The voice is familiar and sends a jolt a safety and home through Stiles, the tone calm and sure, filled with a hint of laughter. Stiles moves around the shelves, doing his best to stay hidden as he attempts to see the owner of his voice, stopping when he reaches a safe distance to see the counter but remain out of their view.

             Derek Hale stands at the counter, facing Josephine, but Stiles would know him anywhere. Stiles takes him in, noting the way he carries himself, open and almost carefree. Derek’s hair is longer, and Stiles takes note of the kept scruff on his jaw. He’s wearing an olive green jacket and Stiles spies a beanie from inside the pocket on his left side. He looks good, Stiles thinks and is caught in the moment of seeing the man that he doesn’t realize he’s left the cover of the shelving until Josephine speaks to him.

             “Oh, did you find something you like?” she asks, and Stiles stands there, eyes wide when Derek turns around. Stiles sees the whole moment play out on Derek’s face; recognition, to surprise and what Stiles would say looks a bit like happiness. Before he realizes what he’s done, Stiles darts out of the shop and down the street, having dropped the book in his haste. His heart beats as if it is going to burst from his chest, the pounding moving to his ears. He doesn’t hear Derek calling after him until he’s being turned around to face the situation.

             “Jesus, would you stop Stiles?” Derek says, letting out a huff that Stiles knows better than is exertion. They stand there for a moment, silence surrounding them as Stiles tries not to wilt under Derek’s gaze. Stiles scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk and starts to say ‘I should go’ but stops when Derek speaks again, his voice just as calm as before, “How are you?”

               Stiles shrugs meeting Derek’s gaze, “Fine.” He manages to keep from wincing when his heartbeat changes for a fraction of a second, but Derek notices it. In that small moment, something changes for Stiles as he watches Derek’s eyes narrow, a flash of anger. Here Derek was in front of him, by all appearances happy and thriving, and Stiles was drowning in the weight of the blood on his hands. He steels himself, resolve unwavering and he stands up straighter, “I’m fine Derek.”

               Derek’s lip twitches, gaze still hyper-focused on Stiles in front of him, “No you’re not. You’re in Anacortes, Stiles.” Derek looks back behind him and frowns when he sees Josephine looking out of her store, “Look, I have some business with Josephine, but come with me okay? We can grab some lunch and talk. You can even stay with me and Cora for a while if you’d like. Keep you from having to spend money on a hotel room.”

              Stiles watches Derek for a moment, finally nodding his head. Derek beams at him and it hurts Stiles because Derek was never this happy in Beacon Hills. They make it back to the store and Derek turns to Stiles, “You don’t have to come back in. Josephine should have my order ready.” Derek doesn’t take much longer than five minutes inside the store, reappearing with a large box filled to the brim with an assortment of plants, dust, and crystals along with several books. Derek hefts it against his hips and urges Stiles toward the end of the street where a light blue Land Rover sits.

              “You have a Land Rover,” Stiles deadpans when they stop at the back of the vehicle so Derek can place the box inside. Derek smirks at him, moving a few items around so he can situate the box to insure the contents safety.

               “It’s easier to navigate both the rougher terrain in the remote areas and city streets on the mainland,” Derek says, fully facing Stiles after he closes the door to the truck, “So, are you going to stay with me? If so we’ll need to get your things…and truck? Though if you’re in your jeep, you can keep it parked at the docks for a few if you’d like. Of course, you can always bring it to the island, but if you plan to leave it might be easier to park it short term near the docks.”

               “Wait, what?” Stiles sputters, “Docks?”

               “Yeah, I don’t live in Anacortes. I live in Oslo, on Orca Island, take the Land Rover onto the mainland every so often for supplies and to stock up on certain items that can’t easily be gotten on the island,” Derek shrugs throwing Stiles an incredulous look, “Don’t give me that look Stiles. Anyway, so leaving your jeep at the docks, yes?”

               All Stiles can do is nod before Derek opens the passenger side door and motioning for Stiles to get inside. The ride to the hotel is short and passes is silence as Stiles continues his internal freak out at having run into Derek. He’s startled when Derek shakes his shoulder and motions to the hotel, “I can wait here for you to check out and get your things so you can follow me to the docks.” Stiles nods, getting out of the car and running up to his room, getting the items he left inside before heading back down to the lobby. He noticed Derek on the phone as he passed him by, deep into the conversation that he didn’t even notice Stiles when he passed. He checks out with little fanfare, just returning his keycard and giving a terse smile to the clerk before walking back out to meet Derek.

                “You done?” Derek asks, Stiles stepping up to the driver’s side door with a nod, “Alright then. The dock isn’t very far, just follow me okay?” The drive isn’t very long, but offers enough time for Stiles to entertain and heavily debate turning around and traveling as far away from Derek as he could. Ultimately, Stiles follows Derek into a small parking lot near the ferry dock and pulls beside him. He hesitates in his seat as Derek hurriedly gets out of his truck and moves to help Stiles unload his car.

             “Didn’t bring much,” Derek states picking up both of Stiles’ bags and putting them over his shoulder. He places them in the back of the Land Rover, beside the box and shuts the door before leaning up against it, “You can lock your doors, but I don’t think Jon would let anyone bother your vehicle though.”

             Stiles nods, hitting the lock button on the door before leaning across the console and doing the same to the passenger side. Sliding out, he places his keys in his pocket and shuts the door with finality. He looks back to Derek, catching him staring at him, a soft expression on the man’s face and he fidgets under the scrutiny. His subtle movements break Derek from contemplation, and again, Stiles is given a bright smile from the other man, “So you ready to go?”

             Stiles gives Derek a tentative smile, Derek’s own mood almost infectious, “As I’ll ever be I guess.” They both move to their respective seats in the truck, and Derek starts the engine and quickly maneuvers out of the parking lot and moves to a place in the queue to board the ferry.


	2. I only find myself feeling more alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...it's a day later than I had hoped...but here is Chapter 2. Again I would like to offer my thanks to these wonderful people, all three of whom have helped me sort out this fic in one way or another!
> 
> [ Tabby ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tabbytabbytabby),[ CododylWorld ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CododylWorld), [ wolfboybernie ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfboybernie/pseuds/wolfboybernie)
> 
> If you haven't, check them out. And as always, Enjoy!

* * *

 

(Beacon Hills, Night of the Supermoon)

_“Scott, Scott! No, no, no, no, no!” Melissa fell down beside her son, his body mangled and unmoving. She looks to Mason, the boy staring helplessly at the Alpha. She nods resolutely as she begins chest compressions, counting with each press._

_“What, what are you doing?”_

_“Bringing him back.”_

_Mason is calm despite the scene, “But his heart. He...he hasn’t had a pulse in over 15 minutes. You can’t bring someone back that’s ”_

_Melissa doesn’t still, continuing on with the compressions despite Mason’s uncertainty, “He’s not someone. He’s my son, and he’s an Alpha. And he’s too strong to die like this! Come on, open your eyes and look at me, okay? Come on, breathe baby, breathe.”_

_She stops compressions for a moment and leans down, forcing two deep breaths into his lungs before quickly resuming compressions. Mason can’t do anything except watch, “Melissa, it’s…”_

_She cuts him off abruptly, “Shut up! He is too strong to die like this,” she looks back down to Scott, “Come on, you can do this. You’re an Alpha. You’re an Alpha. Come on, Scott. Roar. Come on, Scott, roar.”_

_She she stops the compressions, raising her hands and joining them together before bringing them down, delivering a forceful blow to her son’s chest. Times seems to stop before a ear splitting roar is ripped from Scott. His body tenses up on the floor, eyes glowing red, leaving Mason and Melissa to scramble back._

           It takes a moment for Scott to become oriented again, looking around dazedly before landing on his mother, “Mom. What’s going on?”

           “Do you know where Stiles is?” Melissa asked, voice a little shaky, “I can’t get in touch with him. His dad has been taken to the hospital and has been taken to surgery.”

           “What?” Scott asks, confused. He looks around and sees Mason, “What happened?”

           “Don’t worry about that right now. Scott, where is Stiles?” Melissa asks again.

           Scott shakes his head, holding his head in his hands while snapping, “I don’t know. Why do you need Stiles?”

           Melissa sighs, ignoring Scott’s tone, “Because his father is in surgery right now, and we can’t find Stiles. We need to find Stiles.”

______________________________________

           The ferry ride takes no more than an hour, and in that time Stiles finds himself watching Derek closely. It’s amazing to Stiles that while Derek’s physical appearance is otherwise unchanged, outside of his slightly longer hair and fuller beard, the older man looks so different to when he did when Stiles last saw him in Beacon Hills. Derek is facing outward, into the wind, beanie adorning his head. Stiles takes note of the near blissful look on his face as Derek leans against the railing looking over into the water. Stiles moves away from the car, stepping beside Derek who turns his head to face him.

           “How did you end up here?” Stiles asks, crossing his arms and leaning back against the railing. He breaks eye contact with Derek, moving his foot against a stain on the floor in front of him. He can feel Derek move beside him, the older man straightening up. Stiles peeks at Derek through his peripheral vision and sees him more as he remembers him. Derek has a slight frown on his face, “Cora. She remembered we had family up here. Distant…maybe fourth cousin on my mother’s side, so we didn’t know them well, but we thought maybe they would have some pictures, and maybe we could stay with them for a while. Even distant relatives in families like ours tend to be close-knit, or as close as can be when they live three states away. We found their information in the vault, so we traveled here, or well, to Seattle. We didn’t stay with them long, maybe two weeks. After that, we traveled around and then we found Orca Island. There is only one pack here and they’re very small, only fifteen people. They lost their alpha a few months ago...she and her husband were killed in a car accident. They asked me to step up, and I accepted. Once we settled in our place, Cora signed up and got her GED. Now she’s enrolled online in a library science course, so naturally we own a bookstore slash library. I guess after everything that happened, the isolation Orca Island afforded us was needed to help us heal. We’ve made a life for ourselves here. It’s home in a way Beacon Hills will never be again.”

           Stiles doesn’t realize he is staring at Derek until the other man looks over at him. Stiles quickly looks away, gaze shifting to over his shoulder, “They’re allowing a beta to act as Alpha?”

           “I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but a few days after I left Beacon Hills for good I woke up and it was just there,” Derek flashes his eyes and Stiles is startled at the crimson hue that dances back at him, “It wasn’t such a rush as last time. One of the distant relatives thinks that I would have gotten it back sooner if I hadn’t been de-aged. They think that maybe it went dormant until I evolved.”

           Stiles nods in understanding as the signal for their arrival rings out. Derek bumps against him, a smile breaking out and sighs, “Come on, let’s get back in the truck. I need to drop the box off at the store before we get something to eat.” Derek walks back to the truck and Stiles watches before pushing off the railing and following closely behind. They sit in silence for a few moments as the ferry docks and they are allowed to drive off.

           Once off the ferry, Derek turns right, heading for the center of the small town. Stiles takes in the area, heavily wooded with a view to the ocean that would be any photographer’s wet dream. On the other side of the road, Stiles can see houses spaced out and trailing up from the foot of the mountain, each one similar in style but completely unique giving way to a near isolation for their inhabitants despite their proximity to the town. As they grow closer, Stiles can see rows of shops lining the street with each storefront facing out to the water. Despite the overcast sky, people seem to mill about the shops, coming and going in an array of diversity that Stiles wouldn’t think would belong in a smaller town.

           Derek pulls up to a small shop at the corner of the street and puts the truck in park. Out front, instead of a native Chief, there stood a carved figure of a wolf, that if weren’t for it’s rigid, unmoving stance Stiles might have mistaken as real. Above it’s frame hung a bright red sign that read _Into the Woods_ in glittering gold lettering. Stiles looks over at Derek who is getting out of the truck before looking back to the store front.

           “Hey,” Derek says, and Stiles turns to look at him through the open door, “I’ll just be a minute. I’m just going to drop this off inside.” Derek walks to the store’s door and true to his word is back less than a minute later, empty handed and missing his beanie. He smiles to Stiles when he gets back into the truck cheeks slightly flushed, “How about something to eat.” Without waiting for an answer, Derek puts the car in reverse and heads down the road.

           They stay silent as Derek continues on the road. Stiles stares out the window watching as the town passes by as they continue further into the woods. The buildings eventually fade away and there is nothing ahead of them but an open road. The sky grows darker as they continue, dark clouds covering the sun and it matches Stiles’ mood. Derek has his window down, one hand resting on the wheel and Stiles hears him take a deep breath.

           “Smells like rain,” he comments, looking over to Stiles who is silently watching the trees pass, “We should get home before the rain hits though. I think you’ll like it. There are woods for miles. Cora loves it.”

           Stiles never utters a word, and if not for the occasional blink, Derek would think the boy had fallen asleep. Stiles’ heartbeat remains steady though, content and strong, so Derek lets him be. They don’t have many more miles to go so Derek turns his attention back to the road. The trees on Stiles’ side start to thin out, dropping away as the earth slopes down toward the ocean and at the sight, Derek can hear Stiles sit up. Stiles takes a deep breath, heartbeat picking up slightly before leveling out again and Derek pulls over at an overlook. Before it’s even in park Stiles has opened the door and gotten out and made it to the railing. Despite the grey sky, Stiles can tell the sun was high in the sky, the breeze coming off the water warm on his face and he closed his eyes as he took in the moment. For the first time since he left, Stiles felt like he could breathe a little better, the weight on his chest a little lighter.

           Stiles is startled when Derek speaks, breaking his reverie, his voice soft, “We need to get going. There is thunder in the distance.” Stiles looks back at Derek, the older man leaning against the truck, his hands in his pocket. Stiles nods and moves back to the truck, getting in as Derek moves around to the driver’s side. The drive doesn’t take much longer after their stop and Stiles is in awe when they pull up to the house.

           It’s not quite what Stiles was expecting, but he’s not quite sure what he was, but he knows it isn’t this. Standing before Stiles is possibly the most magical house he’s ever seen. Not quite an A-frame home, the roof extends to being just five feet from the ground and the short path leads to a spacious front porch. The home itself isn’t old, but the wood has been distressed to appear aged and abused from the elements. As Stiles slips from the truck, he spots a skylight nestled among the moss clinging on the roof, opposite of an iron pipe chimney.

           He startles at a door slamming, turning back to see Derek walking up to him with both of his bags. Derek waves him off when he tries to reach for them, “Come on. Let me give you the tour.” Stiles follows Derek inside and is immediately impressed. The back wall is almost entirely made of windows, the light of the day reaching inside the house and warming the hardwood floors. Walking in further Stiles notes that the whole lower floor is one room split into several sections. To his left lies the kitchen with an island and a small row of cabinets acting as the separators between the appliances and the rest of the lower floor. Across from the island is the lounge area complete with two low seating couches made into a makeshift sectional and that are large enough for each to be used as a daybed. Several blankets and pillows adorn them, rumpled and well used. The tv is on the wall facing the couches and a wood burning stove is off to the side. The last area of the room is closest to the far wall and simply holds a large table closest to the kitchen and a small secretary’s desk tucked into the farthest corner.

           “It’s not much,” Derek says, voice soft and Stiles can hear the fondness in it, “but it’s home.”

           “No man,” Stiles says, walking further into the house. Behind the wall of cabinets are stairs and Stiles can see a door just behind them. He forgets that for a moment and walks to the back wall, “It’s great. Is it just you and Cora?” Stiles looks over the view, taking in the pathway that leads down to the water. There is a dock that goes some twenty feet out from a small boathouse and Stiles can spy a small vessel through the open doors.

           “Yeah,” Derek says, watching Stiles for a moment, “We found this land forsale, about ten acres that include wooded access. It’s perfect to bring the kids here on the full moon and letting them run out their energy. We’re far enough away from the center of town that the adults can keep them corralled.”

           Stiles nods and turns to face Derek, “Are you sure Cora is okay with this? I can always go back to the hotel, I don’t want to be a bother.”

           Derek has dropped Stiles’ bags by the stairs and come to stand beside him, “Yeah, she’s fine. She’s actually pretty excited. She is very fond of you.” Stiles watches Derek as he speaks, and Derek keeps his gaze ahead, “She said it would be nice, having you here.”

           Derek pauses, almost as if he’s lost in thought before he shakes his head, “Come on, you’ll stay in my room.” Derek motions for Stiles to follow him, picking up the discarded bags as he heads up the stairs, “The laundry is through the door there under the stairs. We try to do laundry at least twice a week.” Before they get to the room, Derek pauses and opens a door, “Bed linens are here. Cora went for a neutral palate for us, so you won’t have to worry about frills. Bath linens are in the cupboard in the bathroom.” Derek quickly shuts the door and continues on back down the small hallway. He stops outside a door, before motioning across the hall, “That’s Cora’s room, and this is mine,” Derek opens the door and steps into the room, placing the bags on the bed, allowing Stiles to pass him and take in the room.

           The bedroom is of modest size with two large windows on either side of a door that leads out onto a balcony. There is a king-sized bed fitted with a light grey duvet and several practical pillows. A metal pipe shelf was situated between two studs with a uniquely built chest of drawers that fit neatly in the corner below it. Finally, there was a writing desk situated under one of the windows, a small stack of books neatly placed at a corner and a reading lamp on the other side. “No,” Stiles breathes, “It’s fine. Derek, I don’t have much with me so, I don’t need much space.”

           Derek nods to him then, backing out of the room, “Well, I’ll be downstairs. I’ll let you settle in. I can fix us some lunch if you’d like.” He closes the door after one last nod, leaving Stiles alone. Stiles walks over to the door leading outside and opens it, feeling the warm breeze hit his face. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before he turns back and places the bags onto the floor as he sits down on the bed. He lets himself fall to his back, now just realizing how exhausted he feels. Kicking off his shoes, he situates himself more comfortably on the bed and is out in an instant.

______________________________________

           Melissa stood at the ICU nurses station, having finished a conversation with Dr. Geyer about the elder Stilinski’s current health. With no sign of Stiles to be seen, Melissa took over as caretaker for the man until his son could be found and was keeping a vigilant check on his charts as she knew his son would. She looked over from speaking with one of the on duty nurses and spots Parrish just down the hall, Scott not far behind him and turned to make her way to them, excusing herself from the company of the ICU nurses.

           “Did you find him?” she asked, even though she knew the answer from the looks on their faces. Scott held out his hand and Melissa gently took the item, turning it over in her hands, “It was in a pile of clothes. Like he just...threw it there. It’s dead now. There weren’t any other scents around the house...and Stiles’ is at least a day old. His jeep isn’t anywhere in town, and Malia hasn’t heard from him.”

           “I called Deputy Clark, they’ve already put out a BOLO for him as well as the Jeep, but, someone will be here shortly for you to file an official missing persons report,” Parrish speaks up, “The force is still out looking for him, and checking along the preserve for any sightings of the Jeep.”

           Melissa nods, “Thank you.”

           Parrish gives them a terse nod in acknowledgement and the promise of updates on the Sheriff's condition before ducking away, no doubt making his way to Lydia’s room. Melissa turns to Scott, placing a hand on his shoulder and walking him away from the ICU.

           “How is he?” he asks, and he can smell the stress as if it were a perfume.

           Melissa sighs at Scott’s question, dipping her head, “He’s...stable, for now. His vitals aren’t improving and they can’t figure out why exactly, but the good thing is, he’s not declining either. The hospital is allowing me to make decisions on his behalf until we can locate Stiles.”

           Scott nods, “There wasn’t anything off at their house. No foreign scents. I’m going to call Chris though...see if he can come take a look around.”

           Melissa nods and squeezes Scott’s shoulder, “By the way, what took you so long to get here?”

           “I passed out at the house, when I was cleaning myself up. Parrish found me. We went to the Stiles’ house together.”

           Melissa stops and turns her son to face her, her hands and eyes roaming over his frame, concern evident on her face, “Are you okay? Are you not healing?”

           Scott shrugs, giving his mother a soft smile, “It’s slow, but it’s healing. I’ll be fine.”

______________________________________

           Stiles is startled awake by a whistle coming from outside. He sits up, bleary eyed and looks around. The sun has lowered in the sky, casting a warm, orange glow across the room. He hears the sound again and gets up from the bed to walk out onto the balcony. He spies Derek out on the dock, coffee up in his hand as he watches the water. A few seconds later, a spray of water shoots up from the surface, feet from where Derek stands. He can hear Derek’s laugh from where he stands, and Stiles walks back inside.

           Slipping back into his shoes, Stiles begins his descent downstairs and walks through the open door leading outside. He journeys down the path to the water, stopping beside Derek. From his position beside the man, he can see what Derek is watching out in the water.

           “Orcas,” Derek says bringing the coffee cup back to his lips, as the whales begin to sing again. Stiles looks over to Derek and notices he is wearing a thicker sweater, jacket gone now, and suddenly Stiles can feel the slight chill in the air. He catches Derek’s gaze from the corner of his eyes, tucking his arms tightly around his body. Looking back to the water to watch the whales, Stiles catches a quick flash of something dark that disappears deeper into the water. He bends down to get a closer look and is stopped by Derek who shakes his head when Stiles turns his head to look back at him, “They like to play sometimes, and the closer you get to the edge, the more likely they will hit the dock to knock you in.”

           “I wish I could say that’s what happened to me,” a voice says and Stiles turns to see Cora floating on the water, dark hair fanning around her, “but I just like to swim with them when they come to see us.” Stiles watches as one of the smaller orcas comes up from behind and gently pushes her, causing her to turn around and pet across its head. She places a kiss against its skin before she swims back over to the dock, letting Derek help her out of the water.

           Stiles averts his gaze quickly as Derek wraps a towel around her. When he looks back Derek is running his hands over her towel covered forearms in an attempt to help warm her. Her skin is splotched with tinges pink from the cold, and once she deems her skin dry enough, drops the towel and pulls on the thick, oversized sweater Derek hands to her. She looks over to Stiles then, eyes dancing with mirth, bright in the afternoon sun, “Hey Stilinski.”

           She give Stiles such an open smile and for a moment it takes his breath away. In the few months he’s known her, she’s never looked like this, happy and content. He’s knocked back to reality when she she wraps her arms around him, bringing him close. Despite having just come out of the water, she is surprisingly warm and Stiles lets himself melt against him for a moment as she rubs her hand from his neck to mid back. Stiles feels like she pulls away all too soon, but she is still smiling as she speaks, “Come on, let’s go back to the house. I’m starving.”

           Once back inside, Cora veers off to the stairs and goes to her room while Derek steers Stiles to the island and puts him in one of the barstools, “I’m going to cook us dinner while Cora goes to shower.” Stiles watches her as she disappears up the stairs before turns to watch Derek as he walks out of the laundry room over to the kitchen, “She’s…”

           Derek laughs, nodding his head, “Yes…yes she is. Truth be told I don’t know what it is, but she’s thriving here.” Derek moves to their refrigerator and looks back over his shoulder, “Chicken and rice okay with you?” Stiles nods, and Derek pulls the chicken from the shelf and walks back to the kitchen island. “So…” Derek trails off, trimming the chicken.

           Stiles watches him intently before blurting out, “I left Beacon Hills,” Derek looks up from his task, eyebrow raised before continuing on with his work, giving Stiles the space to answer when he’s ready, “...I...I couldn’t stay there. Not after the nogitsune, and what’s going on now.”

           “Well, you can stay here as long as you need,” Derek says, not looking up from his hands. He could hear the rhythm of Stiles’ heart clearly, thudding wildly, and even without the tell of the skip, Derek knew Stiles wasn’t being entirely truthful. Clearly though, the young man was in need of space, both from Beacon Hills which Derek understood all too well. He doesn’t even flinch when there is a yell from upstairs and hears Cora curse under his breath.

           Stiles looks back over his shoulder when she bounds down the stairs, grey towel in her hands drying her hair. She dressed casually in a pair of worn shorts and a tank and she smirks at him, sitting beside him, “Like something you see?”

           Stiles looks over at Derek, but the older man is focused on his task, paying little attention to Cora. Stiles just shrugs, going silent again. He can hear Cora sigh and can guess Derek and she are communicating via sibling telepathy. He’s momentarily stunned when Cora addresses him again.

           “What?”

           “Would you like something to drink?” Her face was soft and open and Stiles can only nod. She gives him a quizzical look before pulling out a water pitcher and taking three glasses off the shelf. She places them counter and fills them before pushing one towards Stiles before walking back to the shelves and taking down some plates, “So...how is everyone back in the _Hills_?”

           Stiles is silent for a moment before starting off with, “Scott has a new member of the pack...which I don’t think I’m part of anymore.”

           Derek’s head shoots up at Stiles answer and Stiles can’t quite read his expression, “Oh? Who is the new member?”

           Stiles plays with the rim of his glass, giving his hands something to do. He can feel Cora’s gaze on him, intense but not frightening. He catches Derek’s gaze when he looks up, “Some guy we went to school with when we were little. He came back because he heard about Scott.”

“Scott has all the makings of being a great alpha, but he’s still a child,” Derek says, beginning to plate their food, “He wants advice when he asks for it, but he has to learn to take it even when he doesn’t. Now, food is ready so let’s eat.”

______________________________________

(back in Beacon Hills)  

           “Are you sure nothing seems off?”

           Chris looks up and sighs as Scott comes through the bedroom door. The hunter picks himself up from the floor where he was investigating under Stiles’ bed,, “No Scott. Despite the multiply times I have told you I am sure there has been no foul play here, I am in fact unsure.”

           Scott picks up Stiles’ lacrosse stick, turning it over in his hands, “I just don’t understand where he would have gone. Why he would have gone.”

           “Look, he may have just taken off for a couple days. The kid hasn’t had it easy the last few months. Has he not said anything to you about how he’s been feeling?” Chris asks, turning to the board Stiles has on his wall.

           Scott shakes his head, “No, we’ve had other things to worry about. Between the Dread Doctors and what happened before. Then I just, Theo told me about what happened at the library between Stiles and Donovan, and I just, I couldn’t deal with that last night, so I told him to leave.”

           Chris turns his head sharply to Scott, “What happened at the library?”

           Scott looks to Chris, eyes wide, “He, well Stiles killed him, Donovan. Theo told me.”

           “Stiles killed Donovan?,” Chris asks, before it clicks and he moves quickly out of the bedroom and down the stairs, pausing at the bottom when Scott calls for him, “Damn it Scott, he’s not missing. He’s left. You said so yourself that you told him to.”

           “What?”

           Chris turns back around, not sparing a glance back, “Think about it Scott. He’s dealing with the effects of the Nogitsune. He witnessed what it did, the destruction it caused, the lives it took...and then you accused him of killing someone in cold blood...the one person who is supposed to trust him, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s not thinking clearly.”

           Scott is left standing on the stairs, staring helplessly after Chris as the older man leaves the house.

______________________________________   

           Stiles sat on the railing on his balcony, overlooking the water, the sun having dropped behind the mountain peak. He could hear movement downstairs as the sounds of the nocturnal nightlife began to start. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the ocean air, letting it out slowly. He turns when there is a knock on the door, straightening up when Cora begins to enter the room. She hands him a steaming mug and seats herself across from him.

           “You know,” she says, flipping her hair across her shoulder, “Derek, he considers you pack and I do too. When our family was killed…we were all lost. We didn’t know who we could trust. It was hard. We didn’t even think each other was alive. And then you came, and you entered his world in a flurry of sarcasm, awkwardness, and annoyance. You got under his skin and you’ve buried yourself into his heart. You’re family...you are pack. ”

           Stiles remains silent, gazed fixed out over the water. Cora reaches out and squeezes his calf before standing and walking to the door, “Sleep well, Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone. That was Chapter 2! Thank you for reading! I do appreciate it. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. Have a wonderful day or night!


	3. For the darkness, she will come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that it's taken this long for me to update. But here is the next chapter.
> 
> It is un-betaed, so if there are any mistakes feel free to mention them. 
> 
> As always, enjoy!

* * *

 

 

(Beacon Hill, 3 weeks later)

         Much to John’s dissatisfaction, no one has had any news on his son and it becomes more apparent to him that Stiles was not the unfortunate victim of any type of kidnapping, but had simply left Beacon Hills. The unofficial search party was called off after a few days and Stiles’ friends returned to school and their lives. Even his own deputies began to take a step back and placed their focus on other cases. If not for Chris and Parrish, John would have completely ignored Dr. Geyer’s advice and went out and searched for Stiles himself. Melissa usually came by after her shift ends, a tupperware plate of dinner in hand, watching him eat before she sends him on his way to bed while choosing to ignore that she and Parrish had removed all the alcohol in the house. If he can’t muster the energy to go out to get more, then that is that. His days have all began to run together; a myriad of eat, watch daytime television, attempt to sleep, and repeat.

         As he takes a glance at the clock, he notes the time and like clockwork, Melissa is there at his door, food in hand. He sighs before motioning her on into the house, taking in her haggard appearance, scrubs stained and disheveled, and he thinks she appears to look about the way he feels, “You know you don’t have to feed me. You have enough to worry about between the hospital and Scott.”

         She tsks, the noise low in her throat as she sets the food down on the coffee table, getting a tv tray from the corner and setting the food in front of him before she takes the chair across from him. She crosses her legs, sitting up straight as she answers him, “Stiles would want you to take care of yourself. Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he cares any less about your health.”

         John bristles, heart clenching at the mention of Stiles. He looks at the food before setting it aside, any hint of an appetite now gone as his stomach twists with worry from the unknown. “I don’t know what my son would want. Seems I haven’t for a long time…I just. Why would he just leave? Why wouldn’t he have told me what was wrong so I could help?”

         John can hear the hurt in his voice as he speaks and has to look away from Melissa to keep from losing the bit of composure he still retains. He refuses to wilt, even knowing all her gaze will hold is pity. He’s not at all surprised when Melissa kneels beside him and takes his hands in hers, “John, I don’t know why Stiles would leave like he did, but he would not have done so...he would not have left you, if he didn’t think it of the utmost importance to do so. These past few years, he’s gone through so much, more than I think even Scott has, and my son is the one who became a werewolf. But we will find him, or he’ll come home. He’s a smart kid, John. And he’s your son, so he’s going to be okay. You just have to hold on to that.”

* * *

 

       It's easy for the darkness to creep in and consume and Stiles is certainly no longer a stranger to it’s crushing embrace. He’s come to expect it now even, greeting it as if it were an old friend. The nightmares come every night, each one more haunting than the one the night before. During his first night with them, Stiles’ nightmare was so violent he woke Derek and Cora with his screaming, and while it was superficial, had managed to somehow maim Derek.

         When he came to, Stiles was horrified at the healing gashes on Derek’s chest and the few scratches on his face, the blood slipping down the slope of the older man’s face staining his shirt and the sheets beneath him. At Stiles’ broken expression taking in Derek’s already healed injuries, Cora had promptly gathered Stiles and led him downstairs where she sat him on the couch as she made them all hot chocolate, leaving Derek to clean the bedding and himself up. They spend the night piled together on the couch, Stiles in and out of a fitful sleep, his head resting on Cora’s lap as she reclined into Derek’s side. Dutifully, Cora and Derek didn’t speak on it to Stiles, giving him the time and space to come to them when he is ready.

         Now though, Stiles wakes on a choked off scream, heart pounding wildly in his chest. Same dream, different victim; this time it was his father whose lifeless eyes had been gazing at him, pole through his chest. Stiles sits up on the bed, running a hand through his hair and glances over to the digital clock on the bedside table. He sighs, rolling out of bed as the red numbers sear into his brain; 2:00 a.m.. He pads over to the stairs, footfalls as soft as he can manage in his hazy state, blearily making his way downstairs. He beelines to the refrigerator and opens the door to explore the contents.

         “Couldn’t sleep?”

         Stiles hits his head on one of the bottom of the freezer door, startled and quickly turns around. Cora is sitting at the counter wearing a thick, oversized sweater with the sleeves pulled over her hands, her hair cascading over her shoulder, a mug in her hand. She smiled sheepishly to him as he rubbed the back of his head and took a seat on the corner, “No.”

         “Bad dream?” she asked, sliding a mug over to him.

“That’s an understatement,” he says. looking at the contents in the mug: thick hot chocolate and several homemade marshmallows, and takes a sip. He puts the mug down, nodding, looking over to Cora who was hiding a smile behind her hand. He makes a quizzical look and she points to her own upper lip and sheepishly he swipes the chocolate mustache away. They sit in silence then, sipping their drinks and enjoying the silence.

         “Want to talk about it?” she asks after a long moment, hot chocolate finished and mug placed to the side. She rests on her elbows, leaning toward Stiles as he begins to fidget, tearing apart a napkin, “Look, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but we’re here if you want to. Derek told me about what happened…my point is, Stiles if you need to talk about why you left, you can talk to us. You can talk to me.”

         Cora nodded her head decisively and stood, making to go back to bed. She looked to Stiles for a moment, the young man peering down at his hands, and patted him on his shoulder as she passed.

         “I killed someone.”

         Cora stills, slowly turning to face Stiles, a dam seemingly to have broken as he continued on, “This guy my dad arrested. It happened so fast and I didn’t mean to, it just happened so fast. I mean he attacked me first, and he threatened my dad. I just..he would have...I couldn’t let him get to my dad.”

         “Hey,” she said, taking Stiles hands in hers, “I need you to calm down for me, okay. Take some deep breaths.”

          Unshed tears shined in the dim light as she took in the slightly panicked look on his face. She took a few exaggerated breaths, motioning for him to follow suit in filling his lungs with air. Moments passed and Cora noted his breathing returned to normal even if he remained visibly tensed. She takes the seat immediately beside him, her hands still in his, “Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.”

         Stiles stares at her in a bewildered disbelief, caught off guard at her calm, “Um…well. I mean, my dad arrested him, and he threatened him. My dad was having him transported and someone attacked the transport van. He’s a genetic chimera…and the Dread Doctors, they made him a supernatural one too. He found me at the school one night and cornered me in the library, and I had no choice. He was stalking me, saying things like he would eat my legs. And I saw the scaffolding so I started to climb up it and he followed me. Then I saw the pin and I pulled it because it was the only way to slow him down. It fell apart and a pipe impaled him. I just wanted to get away. I didn’t mean to kill him, but he was going to hurt me…he was going to kill my dad.”

         Stiles was silent then, shoulders hunched as he drew into himself again, “Hey, no, Stiles, you did what you had to to stay alive. No one can ever blame you for that. It’s self defence. Did they not believe you? Is that why you left?”

         Stiles shook his head, “My…Scott, he confronted me about it one night. He thinks I killed Donovan in cold blood, which I didn’t. I think Theo told him. We couldn’t even find the body afterward when Theo found me. But, Scott, he told me to leave, that they didn’t need me, so I went home. It wasn’t even a conscious decision for me…I just left. No note, I don’t even have my phone. I guess in hindsight it was so they couldn’t track me.”

         “So your dad doesn’t even know?” Cora asked, resting against the counter, Stiles having long since pulled away from her. She watches him carefully, the lines of his body pulled in tight as if he were trying to disappear, his movements jerky and almost uncoordinated as he shakes his head in a silent no, “I mean, this is just a suggestion, but, you should call your dad. Let him know you’re okay. You can call him from the shop if you want. We’ve got new inventory coming in today, you can come with and help out. Derek hates it and won’t come in today, or maybe he would if you were there.”

         Stiles keeps silent, head resting in his hand while he drew invisible patterns on the counter with his other, knowing Cora is right. He looks up at the scrape of a chair on the tile and meets Cora’s gaze, “You don’t have to call your dad if you don’t want Stiles. Derek could call him if you want or even me if you’d like. He’s probably worried sick...I think he’d like to know that you are okay. And if you’re worried about how Derek or I would feel about this, we know more than most that the world isn’t just black and white. I know you know about Paige.”

         Stiles nods and with that, Cora places a quick peck against his cheek and leaves back up the stairs. Stiles stays seated at the counter, the only light coming from the small overhead light on the hood above the stovetop. He drums his fingers against the counter, a restless energy that has come all of a sudden. Caught up in his head, he doesn’t hear the footfalls coming up behind him and is confused when a phone enters his line of sight. He turns abruptly, nearly unseating himself, catching his balance on the counter as he faces Derek.

         “I overheard you and Cora. I was going to leave you down here by yourself because I thought you may want to be alone, but she’s right. I know better than most what that guilt feels like, eating you up inside, so I am here, if you want to talk,” Derek says taking the seat beside Stiles, turning him so they remain facing. He taps the counter by the phone softly, drawing Stiles’ attention to the dark screen before pushing it closer to him, “You’ve been here three weeks, and Cora nor I have pushed you to do anything, but Stiles, this is me pushing you to call your dad, and I’ll be here with you, the whole time you’re on the phone, okay.”

         Stiles' voice is breaking when he speaks, unsure, “What would I even say? I just left him. I didn’t even leave him a note.”

         Derek gives him a soft smile, “You could always start with hi.”

* * *

 

(Beacon Hills, 4am)

         John has grown used to surviving on little sleep since his tenure as sheriff, which has only increased with the discovery of what lurks in the dark. Now, his sleeping habits are almost non-existent with most of his focus being on finding Stiles. He is pretty sure his blood stream is composed of mostly stale coffee now. He’s long since been awake tonight, having woken up from where he crashed on Stiles’ bed while looking for any clue on where his son may have gone and has taken to brewing a new pot of coffee.

        He stares at his reflection in the side of the toaster as he waits for it to finish and takes in his appearance; dark circles lie under his eyes from the lack of sleep, his skin is almost ashen from lack of proper nutrition, and his hair looks greyer from the stress. It’s as if he’s aged ten years in the short span of time Stiles has been gone, and if he’s being honest with himself, having Stiles missing is like losing Claudia all over again, and with his son’s disappearance there is always the possibility that he would never get closure if Stiles can’t be found.

         He startles when another mug comes into view but barely flinches when the voice comes from behind him, “You look like a corpse, are you even eating”

         John turns to Chris and motions to the coffee pot to which the hunter turns to and pours himself a cup. John leans against the counter and sighs, “Mel has made it her mission to feed me every night even if most of it has stayed in the containers she brings them in. Parrish comes by and makes sure I drink something other than coffee and eat at least a sandwich at lunch. You got any word on my son?”

         Chris shakes his head, “No, my contacts to the east haven’t seen him at all. The contact at the Oregon/California border who thinks there may have been a vehicle fitting Stiles description in the area back a few weeks ago hasn’t seen the vehicle since. They’re still keeping an eye out.”

         John nods, placing his mug into the sink behind him and speaks not facing the other man, “I want to go to the station, but I’ve not been cleared for duty yet. I think that may have more to do with the stress of Stiles being missing on the stress of the surgery. Parrish has barred me from my office. He did bring me the file they have on him, said I could at least look it over, see if there is anything they missed or that could be added.”

         Chris squeezes John’s shoulder, “We’ll find him. He’s strong. He runs with wolves after all.”

John doesn’t respond but watches as Chris slips out the back door. He sighs, running his free hand through his hair as he walks to the kitchen table and stares at the file lying there. Before he has a chance to flip it open, the shrill ring of his cell breaks the silence in the house and he glances at the caller ID where blocked caller reads plainly on the screen. Without thinking he hits answer and in a rush, breathes out harshly “Stiles?”

         The line is silent for a moment, but feels like an eternity to the man. He checks that the line is still open, the counter letting him know that no, the caller hasn’t hung up. Listening closely he can hear a faint voice in the background, to far away for him to hear what they say. In the next moment though, he feels as if all the air is punched from his lungs when he hears the voice loud and clear if not a bit unsure, “Hey dad.”

         John grasps the edge of the table, tears pricking his eyes, “Son…Stiles, are you okay? Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

         If he were anything more than a man, John believes the phone in his hand would have been destroyed at the sob that came across the line. It takes no longer than a second for another voice to come through after his son starts crying, “Sheriff Stilinski, John sir, it’s Derek Hale.”

         “Derek, what…did you take my son?” In his heart, John knows Derek is a good man, despite the multiple accusations in the past about being a criminal, that John now knows were tied into him being supernatural. He can hear Derek sigh before saying something to Stiles inaudibly before coming back to him.

         “I found him in Anacortes. In Washington State. He’s with me and my sister, and he’s safe. He was on his own when I came across him and I’ve offered to let him stay with us for as long as he needs to, which to say is, he’s been with us for the last three weeks. He spoke to Cora about why he left just a few hours ago and that you didn’t know.”

         “But he is safe?” John asks, and he is sure Derek can hear how his heart is thundering even through the line and distance between them. Derek tells him to hold on for a second and he can hear the younger man moving before the quiet sounds of an ocean filter through the line.

         “Sorry, I walked outside to speak with you to hopefully not upset him anymore, but to answer your question, physically he is safe. I don’t know how much you know…”

         John cuts him off, “It has to do with the death of a young man, Donavan. I don’t know Stiles’ side of what happened, but Scott was led to believe that Stiles killed the boy in cold blood, and I was told by another kid that he was the one to kill Donavan.”

         Derek sighs and John can picture him running a hand through his hair, “From what I overheard, Stiles was cornered at the school and ran into the library. He climbed up the scaffolding to get away when Donavan threatened him. Stiles saw an opportunity and pulled a pin holding some of the scaffolding together which fell, and a pole impaled Donavan.”

         “And when they came back the body was gone,” John sighed, “I just…I am at a loss of what to do right now. We have missing bodies left and right. Scott isn’t speaking to me right now, and now I feel that may have something to do with Stiles leaving. I’m just in over my head here, not to mention I’ve been on medical leave for three weeks.”

         “Are you okay?” Derek asked, voice pitched low and softer than he was before.

John nodded his head before realizing Derek couldn’t see him, “I am now, especially that I know Stiles is safe. I was attacked the night Stiles fought Donavan. It was pretty bad for a bit. I finally got better about a week later, after they pulled some kind of claw from my stomach. They have not released me for work due to it and the stress of Stiles being missing. That will change now though. With everything that’s happening though, I don’t know if I want Stiles to come home yet.”

“Stiles is welcome to stay as long as he needs and wants to. I’ve been here close to a year, and we have supernatural people here, but it’s peaceful. It’s like what Beacon Hills used to be. I think this place could be good for Stiles, maybe what he needs right now. Of course, if you feel like he should be home, then I will tell you where we are.”

         “No, you’re right. He probably is safest there, I just…can I speak to him again?”

         “Of course, just let me get back inside,” Derek replies. John can hear the opening of a sliding door and the near silent voices of his son and Derek before the phone is passed back to his son, “Dad, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

         John can hear the huff of air Stiles releases and cuts him off, “Kid, listen, Derek told me what happened. I want you to listen to me. That mess that happened with Donavan, Theo told me it was him, but the events, they didn’t happen to him, they happened to you. Son, I can’t protect you if I don’t know the truth. Did you think I wouldn’t believe it was self-defense?”

         Stiles lets out a choked sob again and John can feel his heart stop, “I would do everything I can to protect you, I would burn down this whole town if it meant protecting you.”

         John can imagine Stiles nodding his head as his voice comes through the line, “Okay, so now what? What do we do?”

         John leans back in his chair and breathes deeply, “Well son, there is no body. Even if there was, it was self defense. Now you are going to have to learn how to bear this burden. I’ve seen it all to often in law enforcement, and sometimes it won’t truly feel okay again until there is this kind of counterbalance. Right now though, the only conflict is between your head and heart. Your head knows the only crime committed was surviving, but your heart still constitutes what happened to murder.”

         Stiles sounds small when he answers, “So what do I do? I feel like it may be more than just guilt. Like I lost something that I can’t ever get back.”

         “Son, you won’t, not entirely, but you can start by forgiving yourself. But son, Derek says you can stay with them for as long as you need to, and I think you should. You’ve already opened up to them and you feel comfortable with them. As long as you are safe, that is all I want, even if it means you aren’t with me.”

        “I love you,” Stiles says and John feels the hold around his heart ease and he finally feels like he can breathe again.

         “I love you too son. I want you to call at least once a week, if not more, and if you need me to send you anything, let me know. I want to speak with Derek before you hang up,” John hears the faint rustling of the phone being passed before Derek is back on the line with him, “I am leaving my son in your care, Hale. I told him I expect weekly check-ins in the least. I would prefer they be from him, but as long as I get them. Now, is there anything you need from me? Money for food or rent?”

         “No John, Cora and I have a bookstore Stiles can work in if he wants for spare change, but he won’t need to buy food or help with rent. He doesn’t have his phone or laptop, but we can pick him one up and have him call you from it so you have the new number, and Cora and I will give you ours as well.”         

         “I’ll see about sending those to him to save money, and to sort out everything with the school. Seeing as he’s eighteen, there isn’t much I can do about having him come home to finish,” John says but is stalled when Stiles speaks up across the line, “I had enough credit to graduate early. I technically don’t have to take the classes this year.”

         Derek takes the phone back from Stiles, “He’ll be fine here John, and if you ever want to come see for yourself, you are more than welcome.”

         “I’ll hold you to that,” John replies. Their conversation ends there, pleasantries and goodbyes exchanged and John is left feeling lighter than he has in the last three weeks. He still isn’t happy his son isn’t going to be returning home, but if Stiles is safe, John will learn to deal. He looks around the dining room before walking to the front door and out to his car.

He makes it to the station in record time and walks in briskly, spotting Parrish at his desk and calling out to him, continuing on to his office. Jordon jumps up surprised, following after John, “Sheriff, you’re supposed to be at home. You’ve not been cleared to be back to work.”

         “I need you to cancel the BOLO for Stiles. He just called,” John states, as Parrish is closing the door. He cuts the deputy off and continues, “He’s fine. He wasn’t taken and he’s going to be staying with a friend for the foreseeable future. Don’t worry about me being cleared to return to duty. I’ll talk to Melissa and Dr. Geyer when it’s an appropriate time.”

          “I’m glad he’s okay. Do you need me to tell anyone else?” he asks. John shakes his head and dismisses the man before leaning back in his chair and stares at his phone. Picking it up, he dials a number he’s learned by heart over the last three weeks. The line rings no more than twice and instantly when the line is picked up John offers a quick greeting, “Hey Argent.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. Thank you for reading. I do hope you enjoyed. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! 
> 
> Updates will come every Monday or Tuesday.
> 
> Again, thank you and have a wonderful day/night!


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